


the course of true love

by anatolesfootfetish



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 07:19:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16259357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatolesfootfetish/pseuds/anatolesfootfetish
Summary: The man she loved most was the one she could never have.





	the course of true love

The Rostov girls were both lovely, Dolokhov thought while staying with the family. Lovely girls, certainly. Of course, the younger, Natasha, was far prettier and livelier than her quieter, plainer cousin. While the little countess was full of life, bright-eyed and joyous, the cousin was more reserved, more still and silent, with intelligent eyes that studied the world around her and told a man almost nothing about her.

Dolokhov was drawn to the delightful Natasha the moment he saw her. “Why, Rostov,” he’d remarked one evening while a servant tended to his bullet wound, “your sister is an enchanting girl.” Nicholas had given him a curious smile and said nothing. 

 

Of course, Natasha wasn’t particularly pleased at Dolokhov’s presence in the house. She didn’t like him, and she certainly didn’t like the way he’d talk to her as though no one else was in the room, or the way he’d place his hand atop hers as though they were old friends, or the way he’d meet her eyes and hold her gaze across the dinner table for far longer than he should have. Worst of all was the strange fluttering of her heart that she experienced whenever she saw him enter the room, his stance confident and assertive, so that when looking at him, one almost wouldn’t know that he’d only been shot in a duel less than a month ago.

No, she didn’t like any of that at all. She was the kind of girl who fell for handsome soldiers, or dashing princes, or kindly, quiet sorts. It was unreasonable, absurd, even, to consider having feelings for a man like Dolokhov. He was a scoundrel, a rogue, a villain. She despised those sorts, and they had no business finding their way into her heart.

He had to leave. It was the only way Natasha could stop thinking of that awful man. With every conversation, they seemed to grow closer — far too close for her liking. It simply wasn’t right. 

She was on her way to find Nicholas, to inform him that he ought to send his friend away immediately, when she ran into Dolokhov in the hall. 

“Countess,” he said in that drawl of his, eyes dancing, although the rest of his expression remained impassive. 

Natasha momentarily found herself speechless. Then, she managed a timid, “Dolokhov. If you’ll excuse me, I’m looking for my brother—”

“He’s gone out, I’m afraid,” Dolokhov interrupted, with the barest hint of a grin, cutting Natasha off completely. He took a couple of steps closer, until Natasha could see every detail of his face, every eyelash and hair. Inexplicably, it took her breath away. “Might I ask what it is you wish to speak to him about? Perhaps I can tell him once he’s returned.”

“I—” Natasha again found herself speechless, lips parted, and realised dimly that Dolokhov’s hand was on her arm, and her back was against the wall. Before she could think of anything else, Dolokhov was kissing her, and Natasha was taken completely by surprise. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to push him away. But if someone saw—!

After what seemed like both an eternity and simultaneously no time at all, Dolokhov pulled back, his face an inch from hers, a smug, almost triumphant smile on his lips. “Yes?”

Natasha started at him, breathless. “You must leave, Dolokhov. You must leave this place right away.”

Another moment of complete silence passed before she reached out and kissed him again. 

 

Natasha was a young woman now, she reminded herself. No time for silly childish memories like that. She was happily engaged and far more mature than she’d been all those years ago. 

This all seemed very untrue the moment she saw Dolokhov at the opera. 

He caught her eye, and she blushed, ducking her head so that no one would see. All that was over. Surely Dolokhov was aware of that as much as she was. She was almost grateful when the lovely Countess Bezukhova invited her into her box, in the hopes that it would give her a way to distract herself. 

She realised she was mistaken as soon as she saw Dolokhov making his way up to their box. Alarmed, she glanced around for some escape, but found nothing. Her face went bright pink as he entered the box, and she stared at her shoe. 

Dolokhov bowed to kiss Countess Bezukhova’s hand, then, smiling faintly, reached over to do the same to Natasha. Mortified, she extended her hand to him. 

During the interval, when Countess Bezukhova was conveniently caught in conversation with some unfamiliar prince, Dolokhov leaned over to speak to Natasha. 

“I’m pleased to see you here,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

Natasha was almost shaking now. “I don’t believe we have anything else to say to one another,” she said stiffly. How dare he—?! 

“Come now, Countess,” he said, and he sounded almost genuine, almost pained, though Natasha refused to let herself fall for his lies again. “You know, I—I’m not as low as I was then. The army— Surely you’ve heard.”

“That you’re a captain now? That you killed the Shah’s brother, or is that a lie, too?” She gave a harsh laugh. “This has nothing to do with— with status, Captain.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then why do you refuse to meet my eyes?”

She turned to glare at him. “I’m engaged.”

He lurched back, surprised and taken aback. She found it almost pleasing, that she could leave him speechless, as he’d done to her so many times. If only her traitorous heart wasn’t aching so terribly at the stung expression on his face—!

After a moment, the raw hurt on his face changed to something harsher and harder. “I see,” he said tightly, and turned his gaze back to the stage. 

Strangely, this only angered her further. How dare he act as though she had wronged him somehow, when it was he who...

“You proposed to my cousin,” she said icily, hands clenched into fists. “You kissed me, and you made me think… And then you proposed to her instead! As though you’d never cared for me at all!” Her voice wobbled, as though she were on the verge of tears, and Dolokhov returned his gaze to her. 

“Your family would never have given you to me,” he said quietly, almost angry. “You were — you are a young woman of status from a noble family. My family couldn’t be more different. Proposing to your cousin was the only way I could remain close to your family. Your cousin is far closer to me than you are in terms of status, and if we’d married, your family would have thanked me.”

Natasha’s eyes widened as Dolokhov spoke, as she began to understand it all, and her mouth fell open. So, he hadn’t been in love with Sonya after all!

“But— But you left!” she insisted, determined to find his lie. “You vanished the moment she refused you!”

“I wasn’t welcome in your home anymore,” he muttered darkly. “I made the mistake of overlooking your brother’s feelings for Sofie. Both of them were furious with me, and it would have been nothing short of undignified to stay there. I knew you’d hate me, too, and so I... I thought it would be best not to say goodbye.”

Tears began to sting her eyes as she realised her mistake, the lie she’d believed for years. “But—“ Her bottom lip trembled, and it took all her will not to burst into tears right there. “Oh, Fedya,” she murmured, and leaned in almost as though she might kiss him there in front of all of Moscow’s society. But Dolokhov simply gave her a sad smile and looked away, and Natasha had the strangest feeling that he cared for her just as much as ever, and yet that he wanted to spare himself any more pain. 

Though Dolokhov was forcing down anguish himself, he knew there was no use in wishing for what he could never have. Instead, he glances up as another pair of footsteps entered the box. 

“Perhaps, Countess,” he said to Natasha without meeting her eyes, “you’d like to meet a good friend of mine...”


End file.
